Small, But Fierce
by totallybursar
Summary: What happens when the qunari find a young thief in their midst. Young F!Hawke AU oneshot. Posted in two parts.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: School continues to suck right now. But I was feeling bad about not updating Stars Fade, so I thought I'd post the first half of this rabid AU oneshot that attacked me. Guilt. It's what's for dinner._

_So, yeah. Welcome to the oneshot, part one._

_Hawke and her twin siblings lost their parents to the Templars. Growing up in the alleys of Lowtown with their Uncle Gamlen, Hawke and Carver live the precarious life of n'er-do-well street urchins. Until, that is, the day young Hawke decides to try for a big score from the gigantic ox-men living in the docks..._

_Inspiration came from tinyfierce, for the name and for lots of Arishok-y goodness. If you are a fan of the big guy, check out her stories._

* * *

Two years. They'd been in this stinking, festering pox sore of a city for two years, and they were still no closer to returning to Par Vollen.

The Arishok exhaled heavily through his nose as he sifted through papers in the tent that served him as a both a study and (truth be known) war room.

A commotion from outside reached his ears, but he ignored it. There was always something, with these _bas_.

**-ooo-**

Earlier that morning, Marian Hawke had punched her little brother in the nose. Again.

Carver was two years younger than she was, but he'd just hit his first real growth spurt and the twelve-year-old was now a good four inches taller than she was. Not that it was hard - years of hard living had taken a toll on the growing girl, and it was unlikely that she'd ever reach even her mother's height. And besides, though she'd never admit it, she'd always passed most of her food on to Carver and Bethany anyhow.

Bethany was in the Circle now. The Kirkwall Templars had come to take her away almost a year ago. Hawke hoped her sister was happier - and at least Bethany was sure of three solid meals a day. Plus her own bed, not a spot on the floor or on the rough wooden slats of the upper bunk.

As she always did when she was thinking, Hawke rubbed the little silver medallion around her neck. Her mother had given it to her long ago, before the Templars, before she and her siblings had come to live with Uncle Gamlen. Etched deep into the metal and blackened with time was the symbol of the hawk, all angular lines and knotwork. It was supposed to have some meaning, she knew, but it she'd been barely seven when the Templars had broken down the door, and whatever meaning it had was now lost in the memories of that horrible night.

Hawke needed a plan.

It was getting harder to keep Carver in line. When she'd been bigger than he was, it had been no problem. And when he'd first caught up to her in height, she'd still been the stronger of the two. Now though… now Hawke relied on guile, inventive nastiness, and a lightning-fast, righteous left hook to make her little brother listen. But she knew Carver would eventually get the upper hand.

She needed to prove herself to Carver some other way.

Hawke had spent yesterday skulking around Hightown, hoping to find either opportunity or inspiration. What she'd found was the boot of one of the city guard. The bruise still hurt.

Today, she was trying her luck in the docks, hanging around the harbor master's desk, trying to overhear something useful. A big score would show her little brother who was still the boss of whom.

Her eyes kept straying to the fenced off place where the ox-men lived.

They'd come on big, fancy ships, people said.

They were waiting for more ships to come and take them home, people said.

All kinds of dark and mysterious things happened behind those gates, people said.

_I bet they have treasure_, Carver said.

Hawke smiled. Just the thing.

**-ooo-**

Whatever was happening outside of his tent had not yet died down, and the Arishok was beginning to find it distracting. There were shouts in the qunari tongue, and the sounds of both general disruption and localized destruction. Strangely, these sounds seemed to come from within the compound itself and not the streets outside. Previously, the _bas'_ courage only extended as far as a rock's throw from the compound gates.

At a quiet command, he sent one of the karashok with a question.

"One of the _basra_ is loose in the compound," was the answer that returned.

Further questions revealed that the _bas_ in question was a thief, found pilfering a chest. The difficulties in catching this thief stemmed from the fact that she was no ordinary _bas_ - she was _imekari_.

She was also very small, fast, and agile, and had absolutely no compunction against biting, kicking, punching, or scratching anything that came within range. When possible, she also threw things with considerable accuracy. Qunari blood had been spilled.

Something had to be done.


	2. Chapter 2

Hawke swore. She was good at swearing. She spent a lot of time in the docks, after all, and sailors are known for their colorful language. Not that her Uncle Gamlen was one for abstaining from naughty words, but the sailors knew more of them and put them together in much more satisfying ways.

Things hadn't gone quite the way she'd planned. Getting into the place where the ox-men lived was not that difficult. It involved a lot of climbing, but Hawke was good at climbing. And there was no shortage of crates and chests inside. She'd found a box of apples, and not one of them looked a bit rotten. But she hadn't found anything like treasure. Food and clothes, yes. Tools, stored neatly on racks. Everyday sorts of things, nicer than most of the shops in Lowtown, but still just normal, boring items.

And then one of the ox-men had seen her.

He'd shouted something that she hadn't understood, but hadn't needed to. No matter what the words actually were, what they meant was _trouble_.

Perhaps worse than trouble. The gigantic horned creature was firmly between Hawke and the way out.

If there was one thing Hawke was sure of, it was that people who were bigger than you hit harder than you. Based on the size difference, she was positive that the ox-men could squash her like one of the ubiquitous Lowtown beetles. Fast as a wink, she'd dropped to her hands and knees and ducked under a trestle table.

Other ox-men responded to the first one's call. Tree-trunk sized legs advanced on the table.

Hawke heard the same two words repeated several times as the ox-men called to each other. One of the words, "basra", she recognized - the ox-men guarding the gate used it all the time. The other word was unfamiliar - "imekari".

Hawke hoped that it didn't mean "dinner".

A huge, horned head appeared as one of the ox-men squatted down to peer under the table. "Come here, _imekari_," he'd rumbled at her, motioning for her to approach him.

"No," she'd answered, making a rude gesture with one hand.

The ox-man grunted, and with surprising swiftness, reached under the table to grab her and pull her out.

She bit him. Hard.

The ox-man had recoiled, and Hawke had crawled the length of the table to the far end, where a pair of legs blocked her exit. She grabbed one calf and sank her teeth into the leather covering it. The calf's owner gave a muffled exclamation and stepped away, dragging a still-attached Hawke with him.

Hawke let go and scrambled for the nearest stack of crates, bounding up them like an enraged squirrel.

And so it had gone, with the ox-men prodding at her while she perched on stacks of crates or hid behind boxes, until they would finally flush her from one spot and she'd run for the next. She'd attack any body part that came within her reach, knocked crates and tool racks over to tangle in the ox-men's feet, and even managed to bounce a pair of sandals she'd found off of two angry, horned heads.

Now they were using the butt end of spears to poke at her. Tiny teeth and claw marks adorned more than a few of the ox-men, and none of them appeared to wish risking more. Hawke backed deeper into the little cubbyhole, her swearing coming to an end while she paused for breath. She was sweaty, and filthy, and spattered with the odd bit of blood - most of it not hers - and she was getting tired. But she still hadn't found a clear way out. Every time she thought she did, it would suddenly be blocked by a looming giant with outstretched arms.

There was sudden silence below. Hawke risked a glance out of her secure niche high up on a wall, and found herself staring at the biggest ox-man she'd ever seen. He was _huge_, and he wore bright red armor on his upper body.

The other ox-men had drawn back respectfully. The massive creature crossed his arms and looked up at Hawke, his face expressionless.

Hawke glared down at him defiantly.

He raised an eyebrow.

She screwed up her face the way she used to at Carver and Bethany when the twins were getting on her nerves, and stuck out her tongue.

He stepped closer to her nook, and reached up.

He was wearing armored gauntlets. There was nothing to bite. Nothing to scratch. Hawke squeezed against the back wall of the niche, and tried kicking the gigantic hands away.

There was a grunt from below, but one of the hands grasped her ankle.

Hawke bit her lip to keep from squeaking, and tried desperately to pry the gauntleted fingers away from her skin.

With a jerk, she was pulled from the niche to dangle upside down in the red-armored ox-man's grip.

"Let me go, you stupid cow!" Hawke flailed her free leg, trying without success to connect her heel with an unarmored body part.

"Parshaara, imekari," he growled at her.

-ooo-

The Arishok watched impassively as the child struggled in his grasp. Despite her precarious position and the futility of the action, the little one still attempted to fight.

"The_ basra_ thief is dangerously wild," murmured one of the sten. "Kata?"

"No. This one will submit to the Qun," the Arishok replied. He grunted as a heel rammed into his forearm.

A faint smile flickered across his face. "She is worthy, this imekari," he said. "Small, but fierce."


End file.
